Invincible
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Leia finds power in vulnerability, reclaims some agency - wrecks Han in the best of ways. An Identity story [Yeah, background on that 'verse would probably be useful]. NSFW.


_a/n: another Identity 'verse smut story - ah, a rare glimpse into Bespin territory, and Leia completely wrecking Han with the one good thing she learned from her teenage scandal._

* * *

 _ **Invincible**_

* * *

Leia rested on her stomach, her head tilted so it occupied the place where his shoulder met the pillows. She blinked hazily, half-awake and contemplative as she used his arm as a pillow, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing as he relaxed. She slid her fingers against his, squeezing his hand gently, silently enjoying his closeness and the way he stretched out on his side next to her, his face buried in the back of her neck, free hand running over her lower back.

She turned her face into the pillow, pushing her forehead against the cool material, and arched her back, stretching, and taking a deep breath.

"Mmm," she murmured, shifting slightly. "I like spending the mornings like this," she drawled huskily. She paused, tilted her head – "Is it morning?" she added, her tone unconcerned – on a standard clock, probably, but depending on what godforsaken stretch of space they had roamed into now – well, it could be the middle of the night.

"What?" he asked against her skin, his voice lazily and low, half-listening. "Spendin' 'em like what?"

He didn't know if it was morning. He didn't even know what dimension he was in – all he could focus on was Leia in his bunk, Leia in his arms, Leia's skin, Leia's voice, Leia's hair and Leia's lips.

She turned her head towards him.

"Waking up with you and," she said in a hushed tone, her skin turning a pale pink, her lips brushing his chest – she trailed off.

Han lifted his head a little.

"Morning sex," he supplied charmingly. "It's morning if you want it to be," he muttered.

He laughed and pressed his lips to her shoulder. She moved onto her side, sliding her leg in between his, and rested her head on her palm, using the pillow for support. He ran his hand over her hip and pulled her closer against him, eyeing her appreciatively. She ran her knuckles over his lips lightly and touched her forehead to his, her nose pressing into his cheek.

She nodded, fingers brushing his jaw.

"It seems…natural," she confided. Her lips brushed his. "You're still sleepy, your head's clear, you're not stressed, dwelling on the tail end of a bad day," she listed thoughtfully, "just a basic, morning instinct to," she paused, her tongue touching his lips, and she gave him a chance to kiss her slowly before she went on, analytically: " _fuck_ whoever you wake up next to."

Han gave her an amused look – she certainly liked that word more than he had ever anticipated, though he'd never guessed the only way to coax it out of her was in a sexual context.

His hand slid to the back of her thighs, the other, he tangled in her hair, keeping her lips close. Despite his extensive experience, he _wasn't_ particularly accustomed to women who liked it in the morning, but he was not about to complain. He'd been taken aback when Leia responded to his languorous good-morning kiss with a feverish, sleepy enthusiasm that made it feel like the dream it was. He'd like nothing more than to start every day, from now on, with Leia on her back underneath him, her hands gripping the sheets underneath _her,_ her pale throat exposed for his lips and teeth.

She smirked at him impishly and lowered her head to the pillow, shifting onto her back. His hand slipped over her stomach and rested beneath her navel. Hers wandered down his chest to his abdomen, tracing patterns, slipping lower.

"It's like alcohol in your kaffe," she mused in a sultry mutter. "Morning sex," she murmured. "Can you be my alarm clock?" she asked. "Prior to high command meetings, just," she sighed, shifting her head, "come make me feel like this."

Han grinned, nudging her neck affectionately.

"Sure, Leia," he agreed, his voice a deep rumble.

He lifted his head to look at her – she looked better than he'd ever seen her look; healthy, and well-rested, and content; maybe that was happiness there, glinting under those lashes, and he realized that whatever he'd seen before when she smiled hadn't been quite the real thing.

She moved her legs under the sheets, tilting her head back, and compressed her lips, wide-awake, but lacking any desire to get up, or get moving. He moved his hands up to her breasts and leaned over her, lowering his mouth to hers. He gave her a long kiss, his knee pressing up pleasantly between her legs, and she arched towards him.

"You want it again?" he asked in a low voice.

She moaned softly, the sound throaty and deep, and she arched an eyebrow. She drew her bottom lip into her teeth gently, studying him.

"No," she said softly, shaking her head. "I have a better idea," she retorted.

He grunted curiously, arching a brow.

"Better'n this?" he asked skeptically.

Leia sat up, her hair tumbling over her shoulder. She curled her legs up, tangled in the sheets, and looked at him intently, her heart racing in her chest – she'd thought about it before, even wanted to do it to him before –

Leia leaned forward ad grasped his neck in her hands, tracing his jaw with her thumbs, and then sliding her fingers into his messy, tangled hair and tugging a little roughly.

"I think you'll appreciate it," she breathed lightly. She licked her lips, combing through his hair. "Sit up," she whispered, leaning up so her body molded into his and her lips could linger near his ear.

Han cocked an eyebrow at her curiously, she smiled, closing her lips over his ear lightly and then straightening up. He reached for her, turning onto his side like he'd pull her against him and wrap her up in his arms, but she smiled and wrestled away, forcing him onto his back and straddling his groin. She lowered her body to his, lips on his jaw, shifting her hips on his, watching him tilt his head up.

He ran a hand over his jaw, brushing it over his eyes almost reverently.

"You're too much," he accused.

"You're hard," she mumbled, touching his lips with her index finger –

"Leia," he said, biting her name out between his teeth – _where the fuck did she learn to talk like that, anyway? –_ as if he wasn't painfully aware of his current state, _again_.

She pushed away his hand and held his gaze.

"What are you thinking about?"

"You," he muttered.

"What about me?" she prompted.

Her eyes were wide, but they lacked innocence, and he suddenly didn't think it had anything to do with him. He had the strange sensation that he was at her mercy, but he was lost in tense anticipation of what was going to happen – it was as if he'd unlocked something in her, but he thought it had little to do with sexuality and everything to do with trust.

"Han," she murmured, touching his lips again – like they were keynotes in a musical instrument she was playing, delicately, and with care. "Have you ever thought about me going down on you?"

He looked at her like a trapped animal for a moment, startled; he held her hips tightly, his eyes darkening to a lustful glare, and Leia rose up on her knees and ran her hands down his chest to his thighs, her eyes on his intently. She pushed her hair back and slid her hands between her legs, shifting and taking him inside her for the second time this morning. His head fell back and he groaned, taken aback again, words melting into nothing in his head.

No, because he would never ask her – would never _expect_ her to -

She was damn near insatiable, in the most sensitive of ways. There was confidence there, and grasping desperation – and it occurred to him she was grappling with things she'd missed out on, struggling to reclaim things she'd had taken from her. There was a stamina and a hunger in her sexual repertoire that he hadn't anticipated, that wiped him out and energized him at the same time – like it took one night of slow restraint to convince her he meant it when he said he wasn't going to hurt her, she was safe, she could do whatever she wanted, and tell him whatever she wanted.

Mind-blowing, is what it was – the goddamn best he'd ever had.

She splayed her hands on her thighs and shoved her fingertips into her skin, tilting her head at him thoughtfully as she began to move her hips. His eyes were closed, his teeth clenched, and the way his nails were digging into her back was beautiful. She tortured him slowly, refusing to let him buck his hips, and then she took his hands and slipped her fingers into them, laying down on his chest, pressing her lips to his throat, his jaw, his lips again.

"Tell me, Han," she prompted. "I want to know if you thought about it."

She nipped his lower lip, her mouth insistent, passionate, hot; she was going to force him to talk, to reciprocate, because she was feeling ravenous and persuadable and she'd do it for him this morning, she wanted to, she just wanted to tease him a little first – sure, intimacy took a little getting used to, a lot of trust and conquered fear, but she wanted to hand him a taste of what he'd made her feel, and there, at least, she knew what she was doing.

He slipped his fingers from hers and tangled them in her hair, pulling, his grip insistent – he turned his head and she identified the expression on his face as – shyness, reluctance – _Ohhhh, he's being a gentleman,_ she thought – _because I'm a princess -_

"Leia," he rasped in her ear, pleadingly: "Move your hips faster," it almost seemed like he was trying to distract her from her wanton efforts.

"No," she answered stubbornly, quietly. "I want to know," she insisted – she rested on his chest, tracing circles on his shoulder. "My hips are tired," she whispered. "I suppose you fucked me too well."

He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and she smiled against his jaw, smug and proud of what she was capable of doing to him. He tugged on her hair again and tilted her head up; he pressed his lips to her neck, kissing roughly, his teeth brushing skin and taut muscle.

"Yes," he growled gruffly, emphatically. "I thought about it," he confessed – oh, fuck, had he, a thousand times over, and in his dreams she always looked up at him through her dark lashes and he woke up, right then, drenched in sweat, aching -

Her lashes fluttered and she tightened her hold on his shoulders, lips parting slightly. She smiled brilliantly and straightened, her hips still. His hands dropped from the tangles in her hair to her shoulders and then to her thighs, spread over his hips, and she laughed again.

"Scoundrel," she remarked, triumph glittering in her brown eyes.

The next thing he knew, she was off of him, and he felt upside down and left hanging from a cliff; he felt even dizzier, more disoriented, when he turned his head and saw her kneeling next to the bunk, hair in a tangle around her face, tumbling over both bare shoulders.

"Sit up," she requested, lifting both brows, repeating her earlier command – determined, and he reached up and hooked his hand into the top of the bunk, dragging himself up.

He had hardly swung his legs off the bunk and turned to face her, a serious expression on his face –

"Leia, you don't have – "

\- before her mouth was on his chest, drawing promising kisses down to his abdomen, his navel -

"Leia," he insisted. "Hold on a minute."

His head started racing, trying to keep up with his heartbeat and the deafening pounding of his blood – just because he wanted it, didn't mean she needed to – _kriff,_ the last thing he wanted was her to feel uncomfortable, or obligated –

She slid her hands over his knees, and up his thighs, and knelt between his legs, and he stopped talking for a minute, his lips parted – she was draped so – comfortably in his lap, her lips all swollen and kiss-bitten, and he stared at her –

 _She's going to wreck me._

His mouth went completely dry as he looked at her, and he – he reached out and cupped her jaw in his hand, already finding it difficult to breathe – she gave a little prim shake of her head to knock his hand away, and dipped her head forward –

He made a sharp motion as if he might try and stop her, and without thinking, he said –

"Your Highness –!"

He broke off – why the hell he'd called her – but she seemed to think it was funny, and he heard her laugh quietly before -

\- she slid her mouth over him and he thrust his head back, gritting his teeth hard – it was a miracle he didn't jump high enough to hit his head on the ceiling, but he had to reign himself in, if only to keep from striking her in the jaw with a poorly-placed kneecap.

"Leia," he groaned appreciatively, instinctively reaching for her hair.

He knew she didn't mind his pulling her hair - there was no way to avoid it, in her case - and it was a damn good thing; she was so good at giving head he was forced to pull her hair just to keep from forcing her head down harder – it was the single most unexpected, unfathomable thing that had happened to him to date and he decided in seconds he never wanted it to end.

Han tangled his fingers in her hair and pressed his hands against her neck gently, convinced he was having some sort of religious experience, or that he'd stumbled into paradise – she was like a kriffin' pro, and two days ago her hands hand been shaking against his shoulders the first time he saw her naked.

She pressed her palms into his thighs and pricked his skin with her nails while she moved her head slow, and moved her tongue—just—right—he wondered if it was all the Senate speeches that gave her that kind of muscle.

He groaned faintly and leaned forward, bowing his head over hers. He slid his hands down her back, squeezed her shoulders, breathing shakily. It took everything in him not to buck his hips or shove her head down – then again, he'd be on the verge of something like that, and she'd do something paralyzing with that mouth of hers.

" _Fuck_ ," he groaned hoarsely.

He went back to her hair, fingers tight, his lips brushing the crown of her head helplessly –

" _Fuck_ , Leia," he choked – he forgot every single other word he'd ever known, and Leia slid hand up over his hip and squeezed tightly, like a little seal of approval – he breathed out harshly.

She had this – the technique was – she managed to use her teeth just lightly, in such a delicate way that it was successful, and while he was trying to figure that out – she added to it with her hands in ways that, he quietly admitted to himself – he'd usually had to _pay_ for, in the past.

He lifted his head a little, breathing unevenly. He couldn't see straight, he couldn't hear – she kept twisting her tongue around him and drawing her head back agonizingly slowly and he thought, for a moment, that he'd lose consciousness –

He struggled to think, closed his eyes tightly – was she that fucking good, or was it a byproduct of emotional vulnerability —?

"Ah," he gasped harshly. He dragged his hand through her hair urgently, clenching his jaw for control, struggling for the words for some – polite warning; he only seemed to be able to get out her name – "Leia. Leia. _Leia_."

She smacked her palm lightly against the inside of his thigh; it was almost like a soothing blessing; he bowed his head over her again, clinging to her – his toes curled; he struggled to keep from yelling.

He had the vague, helpless realization that she wasn't going to stop until he came, and it obliterated him. He swore and loosened his grip in her hair, his abdomen clenching almost painfully, and she reached for his hand, taking it and lacing her fingers into his – it was such a gentle gesture, and then she drew his knuckles towards her and pressed them against her throat.

He could feel the muscles flex as she swallowed, and he stopped breathing for a moment, shudders running down his spine. She eased up on him, almost shyly, coquettishly, tilting her head up to glance at him – he unclenched his jaw and looked down at her, thinking she couldn't possibly be sexier, until she met his eyes, tilted her head, and licked her lower lip.

He managed to get his breathing from non-existent to ragged and heavy, but he did not immediately regain his ability to speak. He stared at her, and she knelt there matter-of-factly, her head tilted at that fetching angle – she pressed the edge of her hand to her mouth lightly, and her lips turned up in a little, wicked smirk.

She draped one arm over his thigh, leaning on him.

"Was it good for you?"

She asked in a tone that said she knew exactly what his answer was, and he ran a hand over his forehead hotly, his breath still coming in shallow gasps.

"Sweetheart, I can't stand up," he said huskily.

He shook his head, humbled, perhaps in awe –

"Where did you – what," he tried, his voice strangled. He slid his hand through his hair – "What the fuck?" he asked, almost giving up on words, exasperated, and admiring.

She twitched her lashes a few times thoughtfully, sighing, and tilting her head back and forth.

"I read a lot," she murmured, nondescript – and she bowed her head suddenly, her cheeks flushing.

Delighted with the blush, Han leaned forward and kissed her temple reverently, drawing her closer – she could feel his hands shaking, and when she reached out to touch his shoulders, his skin was slick and hot and jumped nervously under her touch, and that was a personal victory.

Han pulled her on top of him, pinning her close with on arm and sliding his other between them, and between her legs. She rested her forehead on his chest, peppering his skin with kisses, tasting his salt, his sweat, on her tongue. He teased her until she was wet enough for him and thrust two fingers inside her, confident in his ability to make her come again - she'd nearly destroyed him for probably the rest of the day, but the performance deserved a thank-you note.

Her breath hitched in her throat and she closed her eyes, biting her lip hard. He watched her face, watched her lashes flutter; her throat move as she swallowed again and then parted her lips to breathe heavily. She shifted, shoving her knees into the bed on either side of his hips, and pushed his palm against her, lowering her lips to his neck and crying out quietly.

Breathing hard, her head spinning, she pushed his hand away with a wince, sensitive. He rested his hand on the back of her head and held her close on his chest, content to take a moment to catch his breath while she caught hers. She was light as a feather on top of him, and she threaded her hands through his hair, her lips moving soundlessly against his throat. He thought she might fall asleep there, on his chest, and he'd have welcomed it, but she shifted and moved down beside him, wrapping up in sheets warmly.

He rolled over and wrapped his arm around her, snuggling closer. He pressed his face into her hair, and then her neck.

"Leia," he ventured. "That was," he broke off wordlessly.

"I know," she murmured huskily, and he didn't know how to respond to that.

He held her a little tighter. Leia allowed it for a moment, staring up at the bunk above her, and then she turned into him, closing her eyes against his chest. She listened to his heart stuttering, recovering from her, and she bit her lip lightly – Han made her feel –

"I have a cramp in my thigh," he mumbled into her hair appreciatively. "You _broke_ me."

She laughed –

He made her feel invincible.

* * *

 _I'm staring at the clock aggressively telling myself I do not want to write the Identity version of Bespin._

 _-alexandra_

 _story #333_


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